


a different definition of stars

by ghostvinyls (jebbyfish)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Alternate Universe - Farm/Ranch, Angst, Car Accidents, Cows, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Injuries, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, guys im dumb i didnt write my tag list down anywhere and i cannot remember them press f, its just a farmer au its self indulgent and thats all we need, minor kallura, plance mini bang, plance mini bang 2019
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-19 18:29:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19978579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jebbyfish/pseuds/ghostvinyls
Summary: Lance McClain was born for the spotlight.But after a surprise scandal, his mom gets worried that the fame’s starting to get to his head-- and Lance gets shipped off to live with his brother Luis and his family in the countryside town of Garrison, in the middle of Altea County, population barely breaching a thousand. In a new place where no one knows his name, Lance should be grateful to have a break from the lights and cameras-- but being a farmhand isn’t the life of glitz and glamour he was used to.And it’s definitely no picnic when the girl next door has blackmail on you.--written for the 2019 plance mini bang ! please check out all the other amazing work at @planceminibang ! i was partnered with @zoedozy so pls send her your love too <3





	1. blue, a color, a feeling

Slap.

Lance withdrew his legs with a hiss, turning to the driver--his sister in law, Lisa-- who by now had turned her eyes back to the road, a satisfied smile on her face.

“The hell was that for?!”

“I told you four times to get your feet off the dash, Lance.”

Lance gestured to the dash, then at her. “It’s--look! I didn’t leave a mark!”

“And you’re adorable if you think that attitude’s gonna fly here.”

_“Attitude--?”_

_“Lance.”_

He slumped back into his seat, the dirt road causing the truck to bump and jostle along as it did. His eyes wandered back out the window-- miles and miles of grass and trees, cattle, hazy purple mountains in the far off distance. Not another car for miles. No music played on the radio--white noise. An unrelated buzz--Lisa told him that it was cicadas in the late summer--hummed in the air, and the sun was high in the afternoon sky. Cloudless. An infinite blanket of blue.

“How’s Veronica?”

Lisa was asking him questions again. Lance looked down at his shirt, tugging at a loose string, brows furrowed. How’s Veronica?

Mad at him. 

Well, he couldn’t blame V for being mad at him. He was still trying to ice the burn from his parents being mad at him too.

He heard the shutter of a secret camera click in his ear, and Lance planted his forehead against the window.

“She’s fine.”

“Mami told me she didn’t come to send you off.”

“Busy at work. She has a life too, yanno. Outside of being my babysitter,” he grumbled. They drove past one, two cows. He should add on to that. “Sorry you got stuck with babysitting, by the way.”

“You’re family.” A pause. She was thinking of something to add on, too. “We want to take care of you too, Lance.”

The cicadas buzzed on.

\--

Nadia and Sylvio were his next assailants-- running down the porch steps of a wooden, white ranch house at full speed, down the dirt driveway, and into his arms. He only ever saw the kids when the family came to Hollywood for the holidays, for summer vacation. They wore wide smiles, their teeth bright white, Nadia’s dark hair braided down her back, Sylvio’s hands were dried with mud. Lance couldn’t help but laugh.

Despite the circumstances, he could never resent seeing his favorite niece and nephew.

“You guys keep getting bigger. Stop eating your vegetables.” Lance said, bending his knees for Sylvio to wrap his thin arms around his neck, lifting him into a piggyback ride while Nadia skipped alongside them.

“Do actors need to eat _their_ vegetables?” Nadia asked, a curious twinkle in her eye. She wanted to be just like her uncle Lance, she had said at Christmas the last year. Just like him.

For the moment, the reminder made his stomach twist in knots.

“Well, kinda.”

“Then I won’t stop.”

Sylvio wriggled against his spine, chirping directly into Lance’s ear. “Me too! I won’t stop, too!”

That made him laugh, the knot undoing itself for the thirtieth time that day, and he let the boy down as soon as the porch steps came to view. It was a big porch. It was a big house. Stark white, freshly painted. An oasis in the middle of a lifeless world. Lisa whistled for him, back down the driveway.

“Lance, you don’t seriously expect your pregnant aunt to get your bags, do you?”

Lance bolted back down, ignoring the sting in his chest when he reached the truck and looked down to his shoes; once pristine, white, now dusted. Lisa gave him a curious glance as she handed him his duffle.

“What’s wrong?”

“My shoes.”

And then she rolled her eyes, dropping the duffle into his arms. “You’ve got money. Buy new ones. Probably something better suited for the farm.”

He followed her dejectly--her and his rolling suitcase--back up the driveway, feeling perspiration on his forehead, in his hair. The late afternoon was hot, the sun oppressive against his neck. Sunscreen. That was definitely first priority once he’s settled in.

The air inside the house was cool and inviting, a welcome reprieve from the hot summer sun. The kids followed their mother and Lance like ducklings up the stairs, into the spare bedroom, inspecting Lance as if he were a new toy.

In a way he kind of was. All city and no country on him. He was dressed for first class travel, not for the dirt roads and cattle and buzzing cicadas.

The bedsheets were a shade of wet soil and smelled faintly the same. The lacy curtains were open, and he could get another view of miles of grass and purple mountains and an infinite sky. The wallpaper-- blue, white, _floral_ \--right out of a homestead decor magazine. There was a desk and a closet, empty save for boxes labeled ‘WINTER COATS’ and ‘XMAS DECOR.’ Lance dropped his duffle on the bed, watching the dust float up and catch in the light. Sylvio and Nadia set to inspecting the room itself, and Lisa let out a content sigh as she looked around. She threw him a smile.

“Nothing like Beverly Hills?”

“Don’t see an infinity pool out there,” Lance said, hoping he sounded funny. _Please think I’m being funny, Lis._

She outstretched a hand to him, adjusting the sleeve of his shirt, following his gaze out the window to the sky and the mountains and the grass. “You don’t need a pool to see infinity out here, mijo.”

She started out the door again. “Let’s get the rest of your bags and get you settled in, right? Sylvio, Nadia, can you two go check on the chicken coop?”

The two were glad to oblige, racing down the stairs in fits of laughter, and Lance could only follow Lisa, dumbstruck, hand out to help her if she needed a hand down the steps. “You guys got chickens here too?”

She laughed, throaty and warm. “You’ll get to meet them tomorrow, I hope. I don’t know what Luis wants you to do yet.”

“Probably wrangle a cow.”

“We don’t wrangle anything here. You’re a farmer now, not a bull rider,” Lisa let out a breath, looping her arm through his as they left the cool air of the farmhouse and started back down the driveway, kicking up dirt as they walked. She was quiet, until they were back to the car, back to the luggage Lance toted from sunny California. “Your mama didn’t tell us everything, you know.”

Lance bit his lip, hoisting his luggage out of the truck bed and onto the road. “You can probably just google it.”

“I’d rather hear it from you, Lance. Not the tabloids.”

That was reassuring, considering his parents and Veronica preferred to read the tabloids.

He looked Lisa in the eye, and the knot in his chest twisted itself right back up. Lance wondered if there was a chance he could get an Eagle Scout badge for his impressive knotting skills in the last month, because this was one hell of a situation to be tied up in. And, hell, no sense beating around the bush with her.

“Uh, it was a DUI.”

Her expression fell.

“Lance…”

He remembered his luggage, one hand reaching for it, the other gesturing at Lisa. “No, no. I, uh, I don’t want you to say anything. It was my fault.” 

She was still looking at him with a furrowed brow. Pity. Worry. Other emotions he wished he couldn’t see, couldn’t understand. “No one was hurt. Just me,” was tacked on quickly, almost too quickly.

She picked up the other luggage, and she squeezed his arm again, but pulled away quicker. “No, yeah, of course. You got lucky.”

There was ice in her words, and Lance could taste bile. His free hand went subconsciously into his hair, eyes back up at the sky, tracing the bumps and grooves of a healing, stitched wound, the sweat on his hands sliding against the sweat in his hair, and the infinity of blue began to break up and crack like a shattered windshield.

Lance closed his eyes.

He got lucky.

\--

His first task was dishes, drying as Lisa washed, and the sound of a car honk outside and the ecstatic shouts of his niece and nephew almost made him screw it up. He sat the plate down on the counter, giving Lisa a wild look. She snorted.

“Luis is home.”

“Where’s he even been all day?”

“Hey, farm work is more than just staying on the farm.” She dried her hands, following the kids outside, and Lance could hear them chatter, hear his name be shouted in excitement by Sylvio. He shuffled along, tail between his legs; the nerves, the anxiety building back up again as he peered through the screen door. There was Luis, and a dog, and the door swung open. Lance stumbled back. The stranger just raised her brows.

“Oh. My bad.”

Lance peered down at her. She wore her hair pulled back under a baseball cap, eyes behind large, round glasses. She was dressed for work, dusty denim jeans and a loose tee covered in suspicious red stains, and in her arms was a crate full of mason jars labeled by fruit (and Lance’s suspicion of the stains dissipated). She looked around his age, maybe younger. Her amber-toned eyes eyed him curiously, and Lance wondered for a moment if she recognized him. They had television here in the middle of nowhere, didn’t they? She had to know who he was. Maybe she’s starstruck.

Her curiosity quickly turned to annoyance.

“Can you… please move?”

Right. He was blocking her path. Lance obliged.

“Sorry. Uh. Hey, I’m Lance.”

He followed her into the kitchen as she set the crate down, setting to unboxing the jars, reading the labels, organizing them by fruit on the counter. Lance watched her for a minute, listening to the sound of glass tinkle. He had about a thousand questions. Many revolving around the stranger in his uncle’s kitchen unboxing fruit preserves like her life depended on it.

“I’m Lance.” He said again, louder, hoping her silence was just because she didn’t hear him. “I’m, uh, Luis’s little brother.”

“Uh-huh.”

Silence. She picked up the now-emptied crate, turning around to face him. Nothing. No reaction, not even a little one. Lance blinked at her.

“Lance McClain.”

“Yeah. You’ve told me your name three times already.”

“I… I did.” He did. “And you are…?”

“Not staying.” She brushed past him, and Lance stared after her. No way. There was no way. He knew his brother was disconnected, but even Luis watched TV.

“Wait, you don’t… do you watch TV? Ever?”

She stopped, turning around, holding the crate against her hip as she gave him a bewildered stare. “You’re kind of a weirdo, Lance McClain.”

“You don’t know who I am.”

She shifted her footing.

“I do now. Why’s that matter? You’re special or something?”

“Yes. Wait, no.”

She raised a brow again, and maybe he was imagining the amused twinkle in her eyes. “O-kay. See ya around, Lance.”

Good brother manners told him to follow the girl back out, greet his uncle. But at the moment, Lance was having a reality check.

Out in the middle of farmer country and the first person he thought would recognize him… didn’t. Was this what a blessing was? Or maybe it was just a blow to his ego. Either way, it was devastating. He peered back out through the screen door, watching the stranger laugh and smile with his brother and Lisa, giving Sylvio and Nadia hugs. And he watched her whistle for the dog, and watched them disappear down the dirt road. He turned toe back towards the kitchen, grabbing the next plate they used for lunch and began to scrub it down, listening for the door to open, for anyone’s voice. It was a relief when the laughter finally carried itself through the foyer, through the kitchen, and Lance felt a calloused hand clap down on his neck.

“What, didn’t want to come say hi?” Luis pulled him into a half-hug, and Lance splashed dish water, a laugh escaping him.

“I wanted to finish these, man.”

“Dishes! I thought Mami was making up urban legends when she said you still knew how to do these.”

“Dickhead.”

Luis laughed, setting to drying Lance’s dishes, his eyes wandering to the jars stacked up neatly on the counter. “You met Katie, at least?”

“Was that the girl?”

“Isn’t she great? Smartest girl we know.” He gestured around the house. “Set up the wifi and TV and even fixed the truck last spring with her mechanic buddy. Complete wonder girl.”

“What the hell? She set up your cable and she apparently has no idea who I am.”

Luis slowed his motion with the dish towel, rolling his eyes. “You can’t be serious. You’ve barely been here a day and you have _expectations.”_

“It’d be like if you didn’t know who Leonardo DiCaprio was.”

“Leo is an international icon and you’re on a daytime drama. _Perspective.”_

Lance took a step back, eyes on the preserve jars. “It was just… weird.”

Luis glanced at him, smiling. “A good or bad weird?”

“Yes.”

“Hey, get used to it. Mami sent you over here because she knew you’d be out of the spotlight while this whole thing simmers down.”

He winced, involuntary, leaning back against the counter. Simmer down. That’s all this was, right? The press will stop seeking him out and some other celebrity will do something equally or more insane, and Lance and his car wrapped around a pole would be old news. Simmered down. Cooked and salted and chowed down and passed right through and the next meal comes along and the cycle repeats itself in a vicious self-sabotage.

It didn’t sit well with him, suddenly. A headache spiked where his skull had split opened and flowered, however many salted and simmered days ago. The bile came back.

“Yeah, when this all simmers down.” Lance said, a little too loud, and he faked a yawn. “Anyways, I’m beat. Jet lag and shit. When should I set my alarm?”

“I’ll cut you some slack. Seven A.M. sound good?”

“Good god, no.”

Luis threw him a well meaning smile. “Let me or Lisa know if you need anything, okay?”

“How about building a luxury pool and spa in the backyard?”

“Anything but that.”

They laughed together, shoving and shoulder-checking, and Luis followed Lance as far as the stairs, a grin on his face, a crinkle at the corners of his eyes.

“Make sure you stay knocked the hell out, because you’re going to need all the sleep you can get. You’re on farm time, now.”

Lance shuddered hard, overdramatic. “That’s scary shit, Lu. Love you. Goodnight.”

He bounded up the stairs a little too fast, sinking down into his four-post bed, onto a blanket of soil and stared up at a dark ceiling. The buzzing of cicadas was replaced by the chirps of crickets, and Lance squeezed his eyes shut, rolling onto his stomach. His fingers itched to check his phone, google himself, see if his co-stars were texting him; but he knew better. Now was not the time.

Simmer, simmer down, Lance.

The jet lag caught up to him, eventually, and he breathed in the scent of earth and sky.


	2. dealing with devils

Pidge smoothed out the blueprints over the kitchen table, squinting her eyes as she regarded the framework for, probably, the hundredth time.

“I think we should make it bigger. Like, an extra ten feet.”

Matt choked on his coffee across from her, planting his free hand on the table.

“We don’t have _room_ for an extra ten feet.”

Pidge frowned, and she pointed her pencil at him, wagging the erase over his face as if, for a brief moment, she could rub her brother out of existence. “I don’t want little Milkshake to get cramped up here all by herself.”

Matt’s brows perk up, and he snorts. “That’s the only name you can think of?”

“Shut the hell up and get me a ruler.”

He snorted, but did as she asked, and the pair fell back into a comfortable silence, Pidge scratching out numbers while Matt calculated and recalculated the cost of supplies. Pidge worried her lip for a moment, eyes flicking between the blueprints to the window, where she could see the land she and Matt had plotted out specifically for the barn one summer two years ago, far enough from the orchards that there wouldn’t be an issue, and still close enough to the house that Pidge could stare out and daydream about it right there in the kitchen. The Holt Family Farm was more of a life-sized science project by the standards of their parents and any normal farmer; bioengineering plants, fruit, vegetables here was the main goal, as was soil testing and watershed studying. They weren’t ranchers.

She tapped her pencil against the prints again, frowning. She and Matt had only ever _talked_ about raising animals here. And realizing that dream, the prospect of it being right there at her fingertips--it meant more to her than the world.

“I heard Luis got a new farmhand.”

Pidge looked up from the barn notes, squinting her eyes at her brother. “New farmhand?”

“He called earlier this morning and said you met him, his brother or something?”

Oh. The weirdo.

“Lance,” Pidge confirmed, and she took a step back, admiring her remeasurements from a distance. “He’s weird.”

“Isn’t Luis’s brother like, famous?”

“Like… how famous? Youtuber or blockbuster film famous?”

“If he was blockbuster film famous I feel like we don’t need this conversation.”

Pidge snorted, rubbing at her eyes with the butt of one palm. “Okay, we’re settling this. I’m gonna look him up. He’s gotta have social media or something. Or maybe he’s a fraud.”

Matt gave her an amused stare, brows raising. “A _fraud?”_

“Yeah, like, what’s a famous celebrity doing all the way out here?” Pidge said, gesturing around herself with her pen, other hand already typing his name into the search bar. “It just seems too…”

“Beneath him?”

“Oh, that’s a nicer way of putting it. I was gonna say _horse shit,”_ she frowned as she scrolled through the articles on her phone. “Wow. He’s scandalous. Maybe this is a publicity stunt.”

“Oh god, you think he’s going to bring tabloids here? To film him charitably donating millions of his famous person money to help out little Altea county in the middle of cow country?” Matt asked, barely concealing the grin on his face. Pidge pointed her pen at him.

“Millions is far too optimistic. I was thinking like, ten grand.”

“Now _that’s_ optimistic.”

She continued her scroll of articles, making mental notes. He was a playboy, of course. Excessive drinking, pool parties… illegal street racing… cast fights… A part of her almost felt sorry for Luis, who was handed his crapshoot of a brother for a summer between filmings for his daytime drama. But the strangest part was perhaps the fact that recent news just said that-- Lance McClain was going off the grid, but no one knew where or why.

“Huh,” Pidge said after a while, then turned her eyes to Matt, who had begun to pack himself up. “I think there’s something interesting about Lancey here after all.”

“Oh yes, because the whole celebrity thing wasn’t interesting before.”

“I’m serious,” she gestured at her phone screen. “The dude’s ghosted his entire life and showed up here and no one knows it.”

“Huh. Maybe it is a publicity stunt.”

She worried her lower lip between her teeth, brows furrowed. Matt squinted his eyes.

“I know that face. You’re going to try and Sherlock this whole thing.”

“Well, am I wrong to be curious?”

“No, but like… don’t freak him out? He probably just wants a break from being… you know. Famous.” He gave her shoulder a squeeze on his way out the door. “I’m gonna go take water samples. Don’t forget to go into town later, okay?”

“Right,” Pidge said, eyes falling to the blueprints on the table, and switching almost subconsciously to the blackness of her phone screen. “Will not forget.”

\--

Lance was roughly forty-two minutes late for his sixth day of farm chores.

He blamed it on jetlag, obviously, when he scrambled up a hill to find Luis waiting, eyes not on Lance but on the acres of grassy fields behind the house. The sky was painted, brushed-on strokes of white to give the blue emptiness something tangible. Lance let out a wheeze as he slipped in the dewy grass again, landing on his palms behind his brother.

“You didn’t land on the cow shit, did you?”

Lance scrambled up quickly, only to slip and fall on his behind into squelching grass. Luis laughed, turning around to face him finally with an outstretched hand.

“I’m kidding. The cows haven’t been on this plot of land for weeks.”

“Oh, _haha._ I see. You’re pranking the new guy.” Lance said, accepting his brother’s help to stand. His hand was rough, calloused from years of working the land, and he was easily two shades darker than Lance was. Sunshine toast.

It was admirable, Lance admitted. He’d never seen his brother work before, only when he was cleaned up and presentable for Los Angeles tourism and family gathering. But Luis was a different person out here, in the world he knew; his touch was gentle with the animals, but strong and steady with the land and structures. And in the week he’s been here, watching his brother work was almost mesmerizing. Mostly because Luis was patient with him, and god, did Lance need patience.

“Say, I think we might need to rewire the chicken coop soon,” Luis said, giving Lance a grin, a glint in his eye. Lance shook his head, raising his hands to point out the bandages wrapped delicately around many of his fingers.

“You put me back in with the chickens, Lu, I may have to run away.”

“Where would you run?”

He didn’t quite get that far.

So Lance followed Luis down to where the cows would be, whooping and hollering as they did to get the herd’s attention. Lance liked the cows, because they were big and reasonable and followed him at a reasonable distance-- and because of their big reasonability and the fact that they were strangers, they weren’t a rumor mill. (Or they were, and were very much avoiding letting Lance in on the gossip.)

Luis finished counting the herd and turned to Lance, whatever smile he wore now a ghost on his face. He’d been waiting for the soul crushing weight that face carried for days now, like the world had yet to fall onto his shoulders. Luis took a long time, not talking about it. Like he, too, was delaying the inevitable. But they both knew they had to clear the air. Some day. Eventually. Sooner, better than later. Disappointment greater than the size of a cow.

“You’re dumb as hell, you know?”

So he was going to be blunt about it. Luis started the walk back up to the ranch house, and Lance followed, the invisible shackles around his ankles rattling as he walked. “I know, I know.”

“You could've gotten someone killed.”

_“I know.”_

“You’re such a bright guy, and yet you make stupid ass decisions like that. Not once, but every fuckin’ time. Like, what the hell, Lance? What are you trying to prove?”

Lance gulped around the lump in his throat. “I-I don’t know.”

Luis gave him a hard look, but it softened far too quickly. He dropped a hand on his brother’s shoulder, dark eyes glaring at him with both hearth and raze.

“You know by now, right? That we can’t keep doing this. Saving you. V’s obviously tired of it. Mami won’t say it out loud, but she’s tired of it too. And the bonus of you almost bleeding to death this time…”

Lance felt his head wound splinter and crack open once more, and he let out a breath.

“Lance, when are you going to wake up?”

Good question. Great question. Lance frowned, words failing him. When. When, when, when? When it was safe for Lance to go home? When he _was_ home? When?

Luis clearly didn’t want to wait for an answer, and he trudged back towards the ranch house, and Lance?

Lance followed.

There was an unexpected visitor, when they finally had the ranch house in their views and whatever tension had filled the air between Lance and his brother, by afternoon, by stomachs empty and dreaming of lunch, had popped. And she was there, sitting on the porch swing with her baseball cap pulled down low over thick honey hair, legs propped up over the banister, a book in her hands. Luis gave the swing a push, and the girl looked up with a grin.

“You haven’t been coming around to see your Milkshake, Katie.” Luis teased, and the girl Katie shrugged.

“Distance makes the heart grow fonder, Luis. But I’ve gone and seen her and brushed her down. Cow duties taken care of.” Her eyes flicked to Lance, and Lance wanted more than anything to slink away from her intense gaze.

He couldn’t peg Katie down, not even for a second. She didn’t know who he was, and just that knowledge alone made him break out into hives. And here she was, again, comfortable beyond comfortable with his brother, and Lance almost wanted to steal his attention back. But right now, he really didn’t know how to.

“Say, Luis, is it okay if I borrow your truck?” Katie asks, sitting up straight and dog-earring the page of her book. “Mom and dad are out of town this weekend, and I have errands to run in Garrison.”

Garrison. That was the nearest town, wasn’t it? Lisa had talked a lot about it--called it small, but the streets were nice and the people even nicer. He’d been wanting to go, sure, for a taste of civilization, to see if he could meet anyone, anyone that was a fan, or anyone that’d hold a conversation about something other than freaking _cows--_

“Lance?”

He looked up, startled to find Luis and Katie staring at him. Katie looked… uncomfortable. Luis looked expectant.

“Huh?”

“I was just asking if you’d join Katie to Garrison. Get a look around town and stuff. Also, I have a list of things to get in town anyway.”

Lance looked at his brother as if he had suddenly transformed into one of his cows. Then he looked to Katie, who was scrutinizing him with those big eyes of hers. Jeez. Did she ever stop staring like that?

“Is, uh, is Katie okay with that?” Lance managed to ask, flicking his gaze between his brother and the girl. Katie frowned, then shrugged.

“It doesn’t really make a difference, dude.”

And then, five minutes later, Lance was sitting passenger side in Luis’s truck as it bumbled down the road to Garrison. He planted his feet on the dash--nervous habit--and fiddled with the radio, the crackle a comfortable fill-in to the silence he was experiencing riding next to Katie, who stared straight ahead and didn’t flinch when they hit bumps. Lance cleared his throat.

“Uh, sorry that Luis made me--”

“--It’s not his fault,” Katie said, words accompanied by a shrug. “Doesn’t make a difference to me.”

“Yeah, but you kinda seem like you don’t like me?”

She frowned, shaking her head. “Difference between liking you and not knowing who the hell you are.”

“I introduced myself like five times already, Katie, cut me some slack.”

She wrinkled her nose. “And don’t call me Katie. Sounds weird.”

“Is that not your name?”

“Pidge.”

He let out a hard guffaw, and stopped the second he realized she had no reaction. “Wait, seriously? Pidge?”

Katie-- _Pidge_ nodded. “Most people call me Pidge. I like it more. Don’t think Katie really fits, yanno? It’s too…”

“Country?”

For the first time on the car ride, Pidge let out a laugh. “Yeah. Little too country.”

Lance sat up, leaning back to scrutinize the girl more. “So what, not a big fan of the country?”

“Oh no, I quite love it here,” she turned to him, scrunching up her nose to lift her glasses. “But it’s weird, ‘cause my parents are just scientists studying the land. The whole farming, country thing came on as a hobby between soil sampling.”

“Alright, very nerdy origin story.”

She shrugged. “Sure. But like, it’s a living. I wouldn’t trade it for whatever city life you have outside of your brother’s farm.”

Lance jutted a finger in her direction. “Hey, farm girl. We have shopping malls. Plural.”

Pidge was unamused, gesturing with her chin out the window. “And we have blue skies, city boy. Blue skies and fresh produce and no time to spend acting _incredibly_ entitled.”

“Entitled?”

“You.” She rolled her eyes. “You think you know everything there is to know about our lives out here just cause you’ve worked the land for a few days.”

“I just don’t get how you could waste your life doing all of this shit when the world’s got so much to offer,” Lance countered, counting off his fingers. “Theme parks, museums, university… I think you’re way too smart to be living your entire life here in the middle of nowhere.”

Her grip on the steering wheel tightened.

The truck trembled onward, and Lance could see a sign, large and cheesy but showboating the town of Garrison to the world. _A town built on love,_ announced the sign, and Lance quirked a brow at Pidge.

“I just have no idea how you can live in this place and not feel sick with embarrassment.”

She gave him a hard glance, eyes glinting hues of honey and gold in the afternoon light. Beautiful, if she wasn’t so scary. She pulled into a parking space, throwing the car into park and glaring at him, arms folded over her chest.

“You don’t have to be such an asshole, you know.”

“I’m just saying, you need like, to be in the real world for five minutes--”

“No. No! Shut up,” she leaned in, finger in his face. “I don’t wanna hear it. You’re just a selfish, entitled rich kid who does whatever he freakin’ wants and gets away with it. You weren’t hard to find online, mister rich celebrity guy, and it’s so obvious what the hell you got shipped out here for that I’m surprised you weren’t here sooner.”

Lance blinked.

She--no one was supposed to know. But Pidge just told him, right then and there, that she knew. She _knew_. She knew, and he felt the split in his skull ache and ache. When did she find out? Did the kids say something, did Luis, did Lisa? No, they wouldn’t. Right?

His mouth opened, then closed. He had to do something.

“Please don’t tell anyone?”

Well, that was something. Pidge froze, the anger in her expression melting into confusion.

“What?”

“The thing. Why I’m here. Look, I’ll do anything.” Lance pressed his hands together, leaning towards her, and he could smell the sweat and dirt and a hint of citrus. “It’d absolutely crush my family, and I can’t do that when it’s my fault.”

And Pidge stared at him, eyes searching his, leaning back away from him.

The thing was, Lance believed she knew the reason. The real reason he was there, in Garrison, on his brother’s farm.

But Pidge didn’t know. And she didn’t think it was something serious.

The gears in her head started to spin. He’d do anything to keep his secret reason a secret. But she didn’t know his secret reason. And the right thing she could have done, in this moment, was to reassure him of that.

But what came out of her mouth wasn’t a reassurance.

“Okay. Help me build a barn and I won’t say a word.”

Lance raised his brows, bewildered. “I have never built anything in my life.”

“Well, you can start. W-with my barn. For my cow.”

“You have a _cow?”_

“I will. Once I buy her from your brother. My brother, Matt, we can build it ourselves, sure, but it’d be so much easier with another person…”

“Okay.”

She stopped, staring hard at him. “Okay?”

“Yeah,” a hand went up to scratch at his skull, and Lance nodded slowly. “Whatever I have to do. I’ll build your barn.”

Pidge could visualize it again. A warm, perfect barn to house their very own cow. Something on the farm she could call her own. A guilty conscience gnawed at her. This wasn’t fair to him, was it? But he’d help her achieve her dream, this asshole who thought farmwork was beneath him. God, that was still annoying. He was still annoying.

She gave Lance a nod, her body on autopilot as she unbuckled her seatbelt to reach across him, and Lance stiffened beneath her motion. She dared a glance, her face barely inches away, and Lance turned his eyes away from her, up to the ceiling of the truck. He smelled like his brother’s farm, sure, but it was a mask, a false identity, and Pidge repeated that in her head as she clicked his seatbelt off and opened the door. Lance let out a breath once she slid back into her own seat. 

“What?” Lance finally said, staring at the open door, then at her. She glared at him, and Lance suddenly, definitely knew what she was trying to say.

“I’ll pick you up in two hours.”


	3. a meaningless list of broken things

She drove immediately to the local auto shop, where she knew her most trusted friend would be, and sure enough his hands were deep in the guts of another, more beaten up truck, mumbling quietly to the pop song that floated from his handheld radio, nestled inside his nearby toolbox. It’s sound was tinny; Pidge made a show of slamming her truck door, crossing towards him to the beat of the song, and picking up the radio, examining it between her hands.

“What’s the prognosis, Doctor Hunk?” Pidge said, leaning her head into the engine with a scrunch of her face. She didn’t know cars the way Hunk did, only the bare minimum, and it was always fascinating when he let her watch. He gestured for her to turn down the music--she did, fiddling with the device as she did. If Pidge couldn’t fix cars, she could fix a radio.

“Spark knocks ended up crushing a few rod bearings,” Hunk said, nodding his head deftly. “I feel kinda bad. Coulda been prevented, really.”

“But it wasn’t prevented.” Pidge said, elbowing him in the side. “You can fix it?”

“If I couldn’t fix it I wouldn’t be wasting my time looking at the thing.” Hunk threw her a grin. “You’re in town today, though! Sorry I can’t get a break right now.”

“That’s alright. You’ll find a way to make it up to me anyhow.” She took a step back, clearing a space off the nearest worktable for her to sit down on, anxiety moving her hands a little too quick--the radio almost fell from her grasp. “You would not believe the shit I’ve been dealing with.”

“Elaborate, Pidge.”

“Well, it all starts with Luis’s brother, Lance McClain--”

_ BANG. _

She startled when Hunk jumped, his head hitting the open hood, but he was quick to catch it before it could fall. His head turned with a curse towards her, eyes wide.

“You mean Taylor from  _ Shallow Heights?  _ That Lance?”

“Oh my god, of course you’ve seen his show.”

“Sue me for being in the room if it’s on.”

“I’m just surprised you know it,” Pidge said, gesturing around herself. “Matt and I haven’t seen it. Shit, I don’t think anyone else in town’s seen it because you know this place would be swarming with news teams and paparazzi and junk, right?”

“Hmmm, I dunno. I think celebrities manage a pretty good handle on their private lives.”

“So what? Tabloids are just  _ wrong?” _

Hunk gave her a sobered look. Pidge cleared her throat.

“Anyways. I think I’m accidentally blackmailing him.”

“Accidentally?”

She explained herself quickly; how she met Lance, their conversation in the car, the ensuing sense of guilt looming over her like the grim reaper. Hunk listened intently as he worked on the engine in his shop, nodding every now and again, throwing her looks when he deemed appropriate--far too often for Pidge’s liking, really. And at the end, Hunk just sighed.

“I know you were excited about buying that cow, Pidge, but this is definitely going to blow up in your face.”

“So I’ll just… make it not blow up in my face.” Pidge shrugged. “I’ll get my barn made up faster, and you know what, Hunk? Maybe Lance needs to be taken down a peg.”

“By lying to him and using him for personal gain?”

“I think taking Luis’s cow benefits a lot more than just myself, for the record.” She frowned. “And you weren’t there. He was so…  _ aggravating _ . Out of line.”

“So what? You demand an apology, not make him  _ barter for his life.” _

Oh, Hunk and his need to be a good person and treat people kindly. The Guilt Reaper over her shoulder seemed to hover closer, much more menacingly. She sighed, sliding off the table and pacing the garage, the radio’s guts now in her hands as she tinkered as she moved. She was better working, that way.

“Alright, you win. I’ll go tell Lance that I have no idea what shit he’s in, and I won’t use him to build my barn.” Pidge said, after another few minutes of playing with wires and gears, returning to the table to reassemble the radio. She didn’t solve the problem, but she made it more… bearable.

“I know you probably won’t, but I’m touched that you would still assure me otherwise.”

She beamed at him, giving him a gentle shove as she placed the radio back into his toolbox, sound marginally better. “I’m always glad to have your wisdom, Hunk. Also this thing’s a piece of junk.”

“Hey, wait! I was gonna ask if you guys selling jams at the county fair again this year?”

“Why not come by and see for yourself?”

“Does a simple yes or no ever work?”

She climbed back into the truck, a twinkle in her eye as the engine rumbled to life, leaning her head out the window with a cheeky grin.

“No.”

\--

Lance learned a lot about Garrison in the five minutes he stood outside in the street after Pidge-next-door kicked him out of her truck.

One, there wasn’t much going on for Garrison. It was a cute little town, frequented by farmers and white people in camouflage that made him suck a breath in through clenched teeth, and there were some kids and families and touristy little stores that sold t-shirts and shot glasses and world famous zucchini bread (which at this point in the day, sounded absolutely freaking delicious).

Two, Pidge wasn’t the only person who’s never heard of him. Lance wandered down the street a distance, passing families,  _ teenagers,  _ making eye contact and smiling with nary a reaction. He got a stare or two for a second, then the moment would pass, and Lance was only novel in the sense that he was a new face in town, not a young celebrity of television drama fame--or drunk driving scandal infamy.

It was like a breath of fresh air. Literally, metaphorically. He couldn’t quite tell.

A rumble of a motorcycle cleaved through his thoughts, and Lance’s steps slowed as he caught sight of the vehicle and the young guy rolling his shoulders on top of it. His gaze flicked over, and Lance, dumbfounded as he was, shot the stranger a wave. The stranger did not wave back. Unfriendly, untypical of Garrison considering what he’s learned about the town in such a short period of time.

Maybe that was why Lance had to find out more about him--a dark spot in this sunshine-filled town that made him feel, for a second, that there was kinship.

He followed him into the building the stranger walked into--and the psychedelic rock song playing low on the radio, the smell of greasy, hot fries and low, drunken, slurred chatter--made Lance almost walk out.

Of all the places Lance was trying to avoid, bars and saloons were at the top of his list.

The raven haired guy who caught his attention stared at him, then frowned.

“You lost?”

Lance blinked, roasting alive just by standing in the room, feeling the heat of temptation and the shattering of his skull run through him like a condescending feedback loop. He shook his head, tremendously slow. “I’m not.”

The guy didn’t respond, instead gesturing to the bar, still maybe ten, fifteen feet from the front doors where Lance found himself stuck in a flytrap. He shook his head.

“I, uh, I don’t drink.”

“Oh.”

He had to get out of here. “I’m… sorry?”

What he was apologizing for, exactly, Lance wasn’t sure. But he saluted the stranger and stomped back out, relishing in fresh air. Fresh air. He inhaled, exhaled, the smell of a sleepy town in the middle of nowhere that looked at his secrets and decided they were worth protecting. As long as he didn’t give reason to let them out.

A honk made him turn and Pidge was back, leaning out the window with a raised brow. She followed his gaze to the doors of the bar, then back to Lance.

“You drinking?”

He hesitated, far longer than he should have, because Pidge’s eyes narrowed and Lance’s blood ran cold with guilt. What did she think? This moron who was hiding because of a DUI, left alone for a few minutes, was hitting the juice again?

Reckless, stupid, addict, addict, addict,  _ addict. _

(It was a painful shame he didn’t know what she didn’t know.)

“I was…” Lance fumbled. “I didn’t know it was a bar.”

She surprised him, with the way she wrinkled her nose. “It’s not a good bar.”

“Thanks for the tip.”

“I like to think I’m full of good, helpful tips. Want another?”

He shrugged, defeated.

_ “Always  _ check that your fly’s in place, McClain.”

There was a joking ease to her tone that definitely wasn’t there before, and Lance let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding, and he quickly took care of the downed fly situation. It was kind of relieving, to be made fun of. Like he and Pidge were finally becoming something like friends. Business partners, technically. And when he turned to look at her, she was gazing around for… something.

“Lose something?”

“Looking for parking. We have to go run that errand for your brother. Can you wait here?”

“All I’ve done today is wait, Pidge. I can wait more.”

In the time it took Pidge to settle on a parking space and walk back to him, the stranger that caught Lance’s attention had walked staunchly his way, standing a good three or four feet away, not making a sound. A thousand questions, a thousand thoughts ran through Lance’s head. Most of them were question marks. He wondered, quietly, if he just attracted weird, rude people; or if he was the weird, rude person people were attracted to.

“So you walked into a bar despite not drinking?” The boy finally asked, and Lance found it in him to laugh, reverberating through him, a hollow echo.

“I’m kind of a dumbass.”

“‘Dumbass’ is at least an interesting thing to be.”

Lance stuck a hand out, despite himself. “Sorry for stalking you. I’m just… trying to make friends. I’m Lance.”

“You’re new to Garrison I guess?” The boy shook his hand, his grip firm. “Keith.”

Lance lost the conversation. He cleared his throat, pulling away from Keith, and said with as much chill as he could muster: “C-cool motorcycle.”

The crack of his voice certainly didn’t help.

“You’re here with the Holt girl?” Keith said, quiet and surprised, and Lance followed his gaze to see Pidge skipping down the sidewalk with a wave and a furrow of her brows.

“You know her?”

“She sells really good jam at the county fair.”

“That’s the first I’ve heard it,” Lance mumbled, and when Pidge finally reached the pair, her face unscrewed itself to an expression of open business. She gave Keith a curt nod.

“‘Afternoon, Keith. How’s your dad?”

“Physical therapy’s doing him wonders,” Keith said with a shrug. “Should be back to running around soon.”

There was something incredibly discomforting about small town small talk, Lance decided. Los Angeles, Hollywood-- there was an impersonality to existing. No strangers cared about what you had for lunch, how your family was doing. Hollywood didn’t remember faces. It remembered, sometimes, what hit the news that morning, and even then that was dust in the wind by afternoon. And Lance was comfortable with that when he had it--the anonymity, the press of expectations on him barely weighing anything. But then he got famous, and impersonality was a far off dream. Garrison was like that. The tabloids and the paparazzi and the fans-- they wanted details, they  _ knew  _ details, they knew more than Lance would ever want anyone to know.

It was ironic, really, that Garrison didn’t know Lance McClain. But listening to the small talk between Keith and Pidge, of family, farming, weekend plans… he knew Garrison more then than he really knew himself.

He felt Pidge bump her elbow to his arm, eyeing him with that intensely beautiful and intimidating honey tinted stare. “We gotta go before the general closes.”

Lance took the moment to recompose himself. “You guys have shops close?”

“Small town, Lance.” She squeezed Keith’s arm in goodbye as they walked, and Lance turned to wave to the boy, who granted him the pleasure of the smallest of smiles.

“Small town,” he couldn’t help but echo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading <3


	4. certainties and uncertainties

The drive home was quiet; the buzzing of crickets or cicadas or grasshoppers--Lance didn’t really know the difference--insistent as the light dimmed on golden hills of wheat, clouds scratching across the sky and disrupting the orange to blue gradient. Lance found himself watching the clouds, breathing in the scent of manure treated land. Pidge drummed her hands against the wheel to a rhythm he couldn’t hear. Maybe he couldn’t even understand. She watched him out of the corner of her eye every few minutes, to see if he’d move, if he’d look her way. She thought about dumb Hunk, and how he made her feel soft and guilty about blackmailing the celebrity in the passenger seat of his brother’s truck.

“You’ve been quiet,” Pidge said, softly.

“Do you ever want to escape your life?” Lance asked, eyes stuck on the clouds. She gripped the steering wheel a little harder.

“I’m not fighting over this again,” Pidge said.

“I’m not trying to start a fight. Just…” Lance sighed, sitting up straighter. “Can I be honest with you?”

Honest. Her stomach twisted and tightened, and she kept her eyes on the road, feeling his gaze burning holes right through her. Honest, honest.

“I can’t exactly say no and leave, Lance.”

“I’m kind of jealous.”

She snorted. “You were just telling me that you have no idea how I could live here and not feel so embarrassed.”

He winced. “I… never really said sorry for that, did I?”

“You didn’t.”

Silence fell again, and Pidge chewed on the inside of her cheek, a nervous habit that partnered nervous thought processes.

“I’m sorry that I said some really shitty things to you,” Lance said. Pidge nodded.

“Okay.”

“I’m just… I’m going through a lot, you know? This whole situation is insane, and I--”

“Circumstances don’t excuse stupid actions,” Pidge said, firing point blank. “You clearly have an attitude problem, Lance.”

“You don’t  _ know  _ me--”

“--I don’t have to. If you’re going through a lot, you’re doing a sure job of making sure everyone else suffers with you.” She glared at him, the fire she was desperately trying to put out rising to ten feet flames before she could stop them. Temper control wasn’t her strongest suit. “Maybe work out that problem before trying to insist you’re a good person under all that rot.”

And he didn’t speak, the rest of the ride home. Buzzing white noise instead of words, something that made Pidge feel a hell of a lot better than she did before. She pulled the truck up Luis’s driveway, throwing it into park and turning to Lance with her whole body, brows furrowing.

“Eight A.M. sharp tomorrow morning.”

Lance frowned. “What’s that mean?”

“Barn raising. I want you to be there at eight.”

For a moment, she didn’t know what Lance would do. If she was him, she’d scream. She’d let loose every vulgar thing she could think to say and make sure the whole county could hear her. She wouldn’t show up the next day at eight in the morning, that’s for sure.

But then Lance nodded in his quiet, bumbling, shameful way, as if whatever happened to him, to let himself get blackmailed, to be here in this shitty quiet town with no future, he needed to atone for it for the rest of his life. “Eight A.M. sharp.”

Pidge chewed her lip a moment. There was more to say, of course. She always had more to say, but right now, she didn’t have the need. There was tomorrow.

She took the keys out of the ignition, grabbing Lance’s wrist and planting them into his open palm. There was a tremble in his grip, or maybe it was in hers. She let go, rubbing her hand into the side of her pants before she could perspire.

“Okay. Uh, good night.”

He hesitated, but nodded at her when she slid out of the driver’s seat, taking her wares with her and walking deftly back to her home. She didn’t need to look back.

\--

“So is he coming?” Matt asked, clapping his hands together with a muffled sound as Pidge poured him another glass of water.

“If he knows what’s good for him, he won’t.” Pidge said, and she clinked their glasses together with a sigh. She took a look at her phone to read the time. Six minutes late. Maybe this was a common occurrence.

“You looked mad as hell when you came back last night,” Matt said, leaning against the dining table and looking back out to the empty plot for the barn. “I mean, I wasn’t going to say anything--”

“--Then don’t.”

“But what happened? You were just supposed to get more rubber gaskets and look into ventilation for the barn, and you came home saying you got the guy next door to build our barn for us?”

She chewed on her lip for a minute, eyes narrowing at the empty land with a pit growing in her stomach. She couldn’t tell Matt she blackmailed Lance, Pidge realized. She’d never hear the end of it, and he’d tell Lance, and right now, Pidge couldn’t handle telling Lance she was using him for barn purposes only and that she lied. Not like he was being any better, Pidge decided, a new flare of anger riding through her like a rocket. 

“He offered,” Pidge finally said, and like coincidences lend themselves to her, the doorbell rang. Pidge got up, faster before Matt could move to answer the door. And it was Lance, who stared down at her with a frown that she was sure his face was stuck at since last night.

“You’re… eleven minutes late.” Pidge said. Lance’s brows raised.

“You know, it’s kind of a walk from my brother’s house to yours.”

There was a bark behind them both, and their eyes turned quick enough to see Bae Bae, the little rascal, leap between Pidge’s legs to jump onto Lance, barking and sniffing as he could. And Lance laughed, a dry sound that Pidge didn’t expect from him, and he bent down and scratched him hard between the ears. Pidge smiled, letting out a soft whistle.

“Bae Bae, be nice.”

“He’s being way nice!” Lance protested, throwing her a smile.

That seemed to be enough. The ice cold tension of the last day withered, and Pidge stepped away from the door to let Lance in.

And Lance was transported.

Pidge’s house wasn’t like his brother’s; it was messy, that was the first thing Lance noticed. Books, jackets, shoes were strewn about without a care, piles of books stood precarious on shelves, on tables, windchimes sang as Lance’s entry let in a cool breeze. There was the distinct smell of coffee, bitter and black, something unlike the always lingering sweetness of chocolate cookies baking at Luis’s ranch. Lance moved carefully through the foyer, shuffling his feet on a carpet that had seen better days, before letting out a low whistle.

“My brother’s got two young kids and his house is way cleaner.”

“Shut up,” Pidge said, but there was a smile as she did.

“So, uh, tell me about the barn?”

“The barn,” came a booming voice from the kitchen, as Matt’s head peaked around with a wicked grin. “Is just outside. Hi, I’m Matt.”

Lance blinked at the older man; he looked like Pidge, like an older, carbon copy of the girl next to him, who rolled her eyes and shrugged past them both.

“I’m gonna get the prints and we’ll show you. Matt, don’t harass him.”

“This isn’t harassment! Just getting to know the local celebrity.” He turned back to Lance with a grin. “That’s what you are, right? Some big shot celebrity.”

Lance nodded, slow, careful. “But for a while I’m just Lance, next door ranch hand and, uh, barn builder.”

“I heard, I heard. We really appreciate the help, Lance.” He clapped him on the shoulder and gave him a shake, smile never leaving his face. “Also it’s nice to make more friends out here. Kind of sparse.”

“I can see that,” Lance murmured. Pidge returned, hitting Lance gently with rolled up blueprints and an eye roll.

“Come on doofuses. Barn’s not gonna raise itself.”

Lance did not expect a completely empty field, when he followed the Holt siblings out of their ranch house and down to a plot of land marked by sticks and yarn. He folded his arms over his chest, feeling the aches and pains from waking up at four in the morning and doing Luis’s farm chores catch up to him. He stamped his feet, shaking his head.

“I thought you’d have more done,” Lance admitted. Pidge nodded.

“Yeah, you gotta understand everything we do is rather spontaneous and buckwild.”

“Oh, I think I’m getting that now.”

“Did your cool little TV show do anything like, a cowboy episode?”

“It takes place in Beverly Hills.”

“Who says cows can’t live in Beverly Hills?”

That made Lance laugh, and he shook his head hard, giving Pidge a smile. “Okay, point taken. How are we building this barn?”

And in ten minutes, Lance learned a lot of vocabulary he never knew before, nor thought he needed. It was to be a livestock barn, according to Pidge, in a very matter-of-fact tone. He learned the nail gun from Luis a couple of days before, and the intimidation of building a barn from scratch dissipated the second he and Pidge set to breaking ground. The frame was easy enough from the kit, wooden poles jutting up towards a clear blue sky, and by mid-afternoon, they had less of an empty plot of land and more of a…

“Pole farm.” Matt said, hands on his hips as the three of them admired the work.

“Kinda looks like the beginnings of a medieval torture device,” said Lance.

“Oh, come on! It’s clearly Assyrian,” said Pidge.

“I don’t like that you know something  _ so  _ specific,” Lance laughed, and Pidge surprised him with a smile. Unexpected, warm, clearly pleased with herself. She laughed too, a string of giggles without a thought, and then she cleared her throat, easing herself back to business in smooth transition.

“Alright, boys, pack it up. We break here, we work our asses off more. If we’re fast, we can be done in like, a month.”

Matt sputtered. “A month? Dude, you gotta give us breaks.”

“We can take breaks once Milkshake’s got her house all insulated and cozy and well ventilated and she’s happy here.”

Lance raised a brow, nodding towards Pidge. “The cow’s name is Milkshake?”

“I don’t know. I can’t come up with anything better. I was on baby naming websites for like a week straight.”

“Oh my god. You’re so depressing.”

Matt nodded, pointing at Lance. “I said the same thing.”

“Shut up! I’ll figure it out, I swear.” Pidge smiled again, sheepish and still, still so warm that Lance wondered for a second if he was just imagining her grins. Lance cleared his throat.

“You know, Luis never told me which cow was supposed to be yours.”

Her smile seemed to widen, and she started walking backwards, hands gesturing to Lance. “We’re gonna bust in and go see her. Matt, can you make lunch?”

“I was gonna actually prep for dinner,” Matt said, and he gave Lance a smile as he started his way towards Pidge. “If Luis doesn’t need you tonight, you can eat with us.”

Lance paused. He looked between Pidge, and then Matt. “Seriously?”

“Dude, if I don’t at least pay you in food, I’m going to feel like a supervillain.”

Lance nodded, slow. “Uh, yeah. Hell yeah, actually.”

And then Lance followed Pidge out the gate and towards Luis’s farm, the knot in his chest undoing itself, walking side by side Pidge down the dirt road.

“Your brother’s cool,” Lance said, and Pidge nodded.

“He’s a total dweeb, but I’m glad you get along.”

And then the silence breached, cicadas buzzing again in the warm heat of the afternoon, and Lance stared down at his shoes as they walked side by side.

“I’m sorry, by the way.”

His head snapped up, giving Pidge a curious look. She watched straight ahead, shrugging her shoulders. “I was being an asshole, too. That wasn’t fair.”

Lance shrugged back. “I think I deserve it.”

“Do you, Lance? Cause I don’t think doing one dumb thing means you deserve to get treated bad by assholes.”

He ran his hands over his skin, feeling goosebumps rise as they walked. “It’s a long list of dumb things.”

“If it helps, I’ve done a long list of dumb things too.”

Sand crushed underfoot, and Lance cleared his throat again.

“So, so why a barn? Why cows?”

Pidge shrugged. “I needed a new project and I like cows.”

“Okay, that’s clearly just two of many reasons.”

She snorted, running a hand through her ponytail. “I don’t need to show my whole hand, McClain.”

“But it matters to you.”

Pidge stopped her walk, long grass ghosting against the flesh on her calves, brows lifting as she looked hard at Lance. “What’s that mean?”

“You’ve made a pretty big deal of this thing, I mean,” Lance shrugged. “Liking cows and doing work is like, one thing. But it wouldn’t make you this excited if it was just that. Like on my show, I don’t just come in and act because I  _ like  _ acting. I come in and act because it…”

He trailed off, hands rising and gesturing absently as he did.

“It gives you a purpose,” Pidge mustered.

“Exactly.”

Pidge nodded. “Then that’s why I wanna build the barn. Gives me a purpose. My parents… they’re scientists, I told you. And like, by law Matt and I somehow ended up scientists.”

“Yeah, I get that.”

“And like, don’t get me wrong, I love science,” Pidge said, and she kept up walking as she answered, brows furrowed. “But there’s something different about studying this place and really living here, you know? Really getting to know the land like it’s family, to know the people here and learn about them and love them like your own.”

Lance cleared his throat. “And that’s the part I don’t get, right?”

That stung. Pidge nodded, careful to not look at him. “It is. It’s why I can’t leave. And someday you’re going to see that this place isn’t as empty and lifeless as you seem to think.”

“Hey, so we got two different definitions of lifeless,” Lance said with a shrug.

“I think it’s more like two different definitions of life.”

They were quick to move, once at Luis’s ranch, to the barn where the cows lived. Pidge looked about the barn, breathing in the hot scent of manure and hay, taking in the structure of the barn in study. Lance rolled his eyes.

“You have your own barn blueprints, don’t you?”

“I do, but god, I wish I had the money to just pay people to build it like Luis did,” she tutted her tongue, pointing up and around the rafters. “I am having a mathematical boner.”

“Show me the cow, Pidge.”

“Right! Miss Spots,” Pidge lead him forward through the barn, stopping at a stall near the far right wall and leaning over to pat the bovine. Miss Spots-Milkshake looked up slow, down turned eyes sparkling, a low sound rolling from her mouth.

“Oh! Mambo Number Five.”

Pidge laughed. “That’s not her real name is it?”

“Listen. Luis has like eight cows here and he couldn’t expect me to remember all of them, so I just named them all after Mambo Number Five.”

_ “No.” _

He pointed around the room at each cow, saying off names as he did. “Monica, Erica, Rita, Tina, Sandra, Mary, Jessica, and because I ran out of names, she’s just Mambo.”

Pidge couldn’t contain her laughter by that point, bending over in giggles as he listed them off, a hand covering her face in embarrassment.

“That’s-- _ haha! _ \--that’s so perfectly stupid that I can’t be mad!”

“Stupidly impressive, you mean?”

“I don’t wanna even look at you right now.”

“I think Mambo Number Five’s a great name. Forget Milkshake or Spots or whatever.”

“She’s--oh my god, I can’t keep that name, every time I see her I'm going to just lose it.”

“We need something equally stupid. Puberstoffer.”

“No.”

“Yebowilitz?”

“No?”

“Kaltenecker.”

“What does that even  _ mean?” _

“It’s the name of my gym teacher in high school, and he  _ really  _ makes me think of cows.”

Pidge gave him a stern look, and Lance couldn’t help but mirror it. And then the sternness melted, and Pidge let out a hearty laugh.

“I kind of don’t hate it. Kaltenecker.”

“Oh, thank god. I was running out of complete nonsense.”

“Are you okay with me naming this cow after your high school gym teacher?”

_ “I _ sure am, but we probably should never tell him that.”

They shared another quiet laugh, and Pidge gave Kaltenecker another pat. “You should pet her. She’s really sweet.”

“Oh, I don’t really… pet the cows.”

“Jeez, if you’re going to be living here, you’re going to be petting cows.”

And she grabbed his wrist again, gentler this time, laying his hand carefully on Kaltenecker’s neck. Pidge’s hand was warm over his as she guided his hand down the cow’s back. Warm, and surprisingly soft; both Kaltenecker and Pidge, Lance figured.

“See? Now you’re a real ranch boy.” Pidge said with a grin. Lance nodded, eyes flicking back to her with a soft smile. The knots in his chest tightened when he looked at her; bright brown eyes and a grin on her face that he realized was just for him. Certainly.

“I think I’m starting to get the point.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u guys for reading !! i was going to post these like once a day until the end of the posting period huhu but :") life gets in the way haaa <3


	5. the sweet tart undertones of raspberry jam

Lance was used to doing things by routine.

In Hollywood, he had to be at the studio by eight, ran his lines, rehearsed or final film scenes, stood around for editing, then they called it quits by eight at night, and then the evening was his, to drink and relish in debauchery until the sun came back up and the routine started over and over again, clockwork. He liked it well enough, sure; but the work was hard, and the fan appearances and interviews were harder by the day, and it only made him want to drink a bit more and fool around a bit more.

And then he drank and drove and destroyed his car and split open his skull and his routine flushed down the toilet with the bile that hit him the next morning.

On Luis’s farm, he realized, slowly but surely, he was getting back into a routine. A whole month, now, of the same routine that felt both so familiar and yet, a new experience and Lance’s training wheels were starting to fall off. Wake up before dawn. Feed the animals. Let the cows roam. Learn to like cows. Fix whatever needed fixing, get back in time for breakfast, and recently, the newest addition, walk the fifteen minute walk to Pidge’s house and help her and Matt build a barn. His muscles ached by late afternoon, in a way that hurt so bad it felt kind of good. And his fingers were raw from work and he sweat more here than he ever did under hot stage lights, and it felt so, so good. 

It was a new routine, a new role that didn’t involve pretending to be someone other than himself--and he was a different himself, Lance noticed. A different Lance who got up early and drank hot coffee and put his energy into labor so hard that he didn’t miss the taste of alcohol or the adrenaline of danger at all.

Lance took a breath of hot, summer air, stretching his arms wide over his head. Something ice cold was thrust against the back of his neck and he shrank away with a yelp, laughter flooding his mind like reprieve, making him forget the fractures in his skull and the guilt that ate at his heart.

“Relax! Just delivering ice cold lemonade.” Pidge said, waving a mason jar filled to the brim with, as advertised, ice cold lemonade. He took it carefully from her, taking a tentative sip as he settled back into his seat on Pidge’s porch, grateful for the drink, his eyes gazing up at a clear blue sky that has, over the last few weeks, become less of a taunting punishment and more of a warm welcome. He rolled his shoulders with a sigh.

“How much more until we’re done?” Lance asked, and Pidge looked up from her phone, her brows scrunching together in thought.

“We really just have to put in insulation and a few other things.” She brought up her feet, and instinctually, Lance moved the ottoman beneath her legs. He’s learned a lot about Pidge in the last few weeks working with her. One, her habits also ran on clockwork. She was analytical and solved any mathematical problems within a solid minute in her head, and she was surprisingly funny, once Lance found a way around her hard exterior. She was funny, and thoughtful, and sometimes she’d smile at him and he has to convince himself that he feels dizzy from working in the hot summer sun all day. No other, delirious reasons.

They sat on that porch the rest of the afternoon, as they do most afternoons, sipping their lemonade and chattering about nonsense-- often, Pidge would ask about Lance’s show, because she swears she’ll never watch it and instead wants a play-by-play of every episode. And Lance would say he’d sit and watch it with her, to which Pidge would laugh her warm, surprising laugh that sticks to him like honey and tell him, well, hell no. And he’d give his summaries. Or he’d ask about her parents’ work, and what she does with it, and she’d tell him all the little secrets she’s learned about farming and soil content and weird facts that, a month ago, Lance would’ve thought was boring and useless. Right now, it was kind of beautiful, that sort of passion. He wondered when he forgot what that felt like.

“Blue doesn’t actually get arrested right?” Pidge asked, peering over him over the top of her half full glass, brows raised. Lance forgot, for a horrifying brief moment, there was a difference between the fictional Blue and himself, and he forced a grinned.

“He does. And then the episode cuts to black.”

“That’s  _ horrible! _ He was freakin’ framed.”

“I know! Twitter was fuming for days.”

She cracked a grin, a laugh escaping her. “That must’ve been so fun to watch unfold. The reactions in real time.”

“Yeah. I never got tired of it.”

They fell quiet again, Lance rolling the mason jar carefully between his hands before remembering a question that had been bothering him since the day he met the girl. He gestured at the jar, then at her. “I don’t think you’ve ever talked to me about your famous jams.”

Pidge sunk further into her seat, shoulders rising and falling without fanfare. “I just make jams and sell them at farmer’s markets and the county fair, is all.”

“Oh, like the county fair that’s next week?”

Pidge’s face tinted red, and she covered her expression with one hand, letting out a quiet groan. “No, oh my god, don’t remind me. I’ve been so focused on the barn that my jams are not going to be of the highest Pidge Holt guarantee this year.”

“I’m sure your loyal customers will forgive you,” Lance said, and he leaned forward, a devilish grin on his face. “How do you even get the raspberry jam that sweet?”

“Where the heck--oh god, _ Luis.” _

“Lisa’s really given us an all access pass every morning with toast.”

Then both hands covered her face, an embarrassed laugh escaping her. “Oh my god. Don’t look at me. This is so embarrassing.”

“What’s embarrassing about being crazy talented?!” Lance couldn’t help but poke her in the side, sending them both into a fit of giggles.

“It’s just different! You’re not a customer, you’re Lance, for pete’s sake.”

“I’m wounded. I’m coming to your booth on Saturday, and I’m going to buy out the whole stand with my hard earned celebrity dollars.”

She peeked at him from between her fingers, her eyes unmistakably crinkling in joy. “I don’t want your celebrity dollars.”

“Hey, I’d rather be spending them on your heavenly fruit jams than waste it all on alcohol.” Lance leaned back, a hard laugh tingling his throat as his back hit the porch chair again. Pidge didn’t move, not until the ice in their jars slid and rattled as they melted. She peered at him from between her fingers, unmoving, and he could swear that, once again, Pidge’s mind was hard at work.

“You really had a problem, huh?”

“If it helps, I’m now over a month sober.”

She sat up straighter, and she was still smiling at him--relieving, Lance thought, because he didn’t like when she looked disappointed.

“That’s… that’s amazing, Lance. You’ve been sober over a month and didn’t celebrate?”

“I’ve been a little busy building a barn.”

She smiled harder. Lance took a quick sip of lemonade, to combat the heat wave dizziness.

“We’ll make squashghetti for dinner. First, though, we have to finish a wall.” She got up quick, hands extending to help pull him out of his chair, and Lance laughed, hard.

“What? Break’s over already?”

“It’s been like an hour! I don’t wanna lose daylight.”

He noticed Pidge working a bit faster as they ran back to the barn, her hands flying, hammer thudding rhythmically as she worked. Lance stood on the other side, moving at a slower pace, taking the time he had to get the barn raised. It was looking good, Lance thought to himself, marvelling the wooden panels he brought up with his own two hands, nailed in place with careful patience and care. It smelled like hay, a smell that he hated before, but now was comforting and normal. Bae Bae walked between his legs, and Lance couldn’t help but laugh.

Then he heard a crash and a string of expletives, and Lance fought every urge in him to say ‘I told you so.’

Really, the first thing on his mind was sprinting across the small barn space to a cursing Pidge, down on the floor, cradling her hand tightly. Bae Bae bounced around her barking, a whine in his throat as he nudged and prodded at the girl.

“Oh god, what happened?” Lance asked, and Pidge let out a hiss.

“Just landed a hammer on my hand. I’ll--ah--I’ll be fine.”

“That doesn’t look  _ fine, _ Pidge.”

He moved the stepstool she was using out of his way, bending down to meet her and extending his hands, gesturing wildly at her injured one. She rolled her eyes, dropping her working hand and moving her arm slowly towards him. Her skin was hot, swelling--but as far as Lance could tell, she wasn’t broken--but also he knew frankly nothing about injuries or how to treat them.

“I think we should get you inside. Your legs okay?”

“I didn’t break them, if that’s what you’re asking.” She propped herself up on her good arm, and started to shift and move upward before another curse escaped her and Pidge was settled back into the dirt. “Okay, maybe my ankle is throbbing from falling.”

Lance let out a hard sigh. “What am I supposed to do, carry you?”

She looked up at him, a glint in her eye that Lance didn’t like. She beamed.

“That’d be so chivalrous of you, Lance.”

He would have killed her, if she didn’t strike him in the core of his chest where Lance couldn’t help but be a good friend and person. He hooked one arm beneath her knees and the other around her back, lifting her after counting down from three. Lifting wasn’t one of his specialties. Pidge hooked her good arm around his neck, wiggling in his grip while Bae Bae barked and whimpered and ran circles around Lance’s legs. Lance groaned.

“If you keep fidgeting, I’ll drop you.”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“I don’t know, I’m kind of in a dropp-y mood.”

“Lance!”

She laughed in his arms, and he ignored the electricity surging through his body as he carefully carried Pidge up her porch and through the front door. Matt sat in the kitchen--which Lance only knew because the foyer lead right into it--and when he looked up and saw the situation, Lance almost felt bad for the guy choking on his sandwich.

“Is, uh, what’s up?” Matt stammered, putting his sandwich down and rising from the table, and Pidge gestured at him quickly.

“We may be fined for OSHA violations,” Lance said.

“Maybe just one violation--I hammered myself.” Pidge said. Matt let out a distressed sigh.

“Why would you--? Okay. What do you need? Is your hand broken?”

“As far as I can tell, I’m fine. But I’ll need ice, a first aid kit, probably more ice.”

Matt gestured to Lance. “Carry on, I’ll be there in a second.”

Despite himself, Lance snorted. “I’m…  _ carrying  _ on.”

“No.”

Pidge grinned. “Come on Matt, I think he  _ nailed  _ it.”

“Double no.”

Lance nodded to Pidge. “He’s  _ icing  _ us out.”

“And I’m done.” Matt got up, a grin on his face, arms raised. “I’ll leave Pidge to succumb to her injuries, and Lance to succumb to listening to every opinion she has on ideal horse breeds.”

The three of them erupted into laughter before Matt shooed them away, seriously this last time, she needs actual medical attention-- and Pidge directed Lance to her bedroom. He was grateful, definitely, that the Holt ranch house was a single story, and more grateful for how close Pidge’s bed to the door. He dumped her unceremoniously and she came close to shouting at him about it, but the bed was comfortable and her body was twitching in too much pain to form a coherent insult.

And despite himself, Lance took a glance around her room. Messy. Expected, if the rest of the Holt ranch was any indication. And a lot more tech in here than any other part of the building. Lance forgot she was into that kind of stuff-- she was so… stereotypical farm girl, he thought. He forgot she was, essentially, a jack of all trades genius packed into one very mean and currently swelling girl.

Matt came in with bags of frozen peas after, sheepish. “We--in my defense, I thought we had ice.”

“Peas work. Keeps me humble,” Pidge mumbled. It was a minute of fumbling, for Lance to hamburger-style wrap her swelling hand between bags of peas, for Matt to prop her foot up with a pillow and pea it. Then Matt left, off to finish the work their parents asked him to, and Lance was left alone again with Pidge, holding her hand aloft between two bags of frozen vegetables.

He let out a laugh. Pidge followed suit.

“You know, I’m shocked it only took three and a half weeks to finally get injured.” Pidge said, admiring her swelling hand beneath the layers of veggies. Lance frowned at her.

“How bad does it hurt?”

“It’s throbbing, but it doesn’t feel broken. Neither does my ankle, if you’re curious.”

He let out a sigh of relief, his grip on the frozen veggies never relenting. “Why were you even working that fast?”

“So we can be done,” Pidge said, smiling up at him. “Then you’re off the hook and I’ll feel less bad about you buying up all my jams at the county fair.”

Off the hook.

Lance forgot he had a reason for being here, at the Holt Farm, the last few weeks working up a sweat and building a barn for an animal that wasn’t his. He was in debt to Pidge, and it hit him a little harder that the reason he was still here in the middle of nowhere, where the grass was greener and the skies bluer and his worries further away, was because he had a debt to pay.

How could he forget? The fractures in his skull a spider web of regrets and unspoken apologies seemed to rustle in the valley wind, reminding himself of what he’d done, what he was doing here, what reality was. Reality wasn’t living a carefree life on his brother’s ranch and shoveling manure and moving hay bales and eating fresh, handmade-with-love jam-- it was rotten and waiting for him to screw up again.

Pidge’s eyes were still on him, Lance realized, because he felt her free hand touch his wrist and hold him steady, her mouth settling into a frown and her brows bunching together as she stared at him.

“You gonna tell me what’s wrong?”

He let out a breath. “I just forgot why I’m here, I guess.”

She seemed to think for a moment, settling back down into the mattress and pulling his hands along with her to rest over her stomach, his fingers losing feeling from the bags of ice, but in that moment, it didn’t seem to matter.

Her voice was small. “Why  _ are  _ you here, Lance?”

“Well, you freakin’ hammered yourself and fell off a stepstool.”

“Not in my house, moron. Altea county. Garrison.”

“You already know.”

A pause, then a sigh. “I know I said I knew, Lance, but you also told me I didn’t really know you, then. I’d kinda like to know you.”

It was an affirmation Lance didn’t know he needed. His eyes locked on Pidge’s, their amber hue catching the afternoon light that streamed through her window, the earnest look of honesty and hope on her face… he was still using that excuse, the summer heat, the dizziness that made him hold his breath and press the frozen vegetables together a breath tighter.

“The DUI.” It still hurt to say out loud; a part of him wanted to bury the truth so deep inside that neither of them would be able to reach it. The words echoed around him, taunting almost, threatening to drag him back to square one when he first showed up in this valley and all parts of him wanted him to suffer more for it. Suffer more, Lance. Drink again, Lance.

Then Pidge’s fingers ran gently over his skin, and he was anchored, and the truth was out.

“Did anyone get hurt?” her voice was small, still, but it wasn’t judging, it wasn’t out to get him. A wash of relief settled over his shoulders.

“Just me. I wrapped my car around a pole.”

“You’re still alive.”

“I got head trauma.”

“Huh. That makes sense.”

He didn’t expect a wisecrack, but it made him smile. She wasn’t looking at him now, instead down at his hands, her thumb running over and over his wrist in quiet contemplation.

“I…” Pidge said. If Lance heard a hesitation in her voice, he didn’t pick up on it. “You’re strong, Lance. For acknowledging that you did something stupid and wrong. Not a lot of people… not a lot of people could say the same.”

A wave of relief crashed over him, icy cold digging inches into his skin and relieving him of hot, oppressive fires on his back.

“I just… I feel like I can stop lying. To you, to myself, to everyone who ever thought I’d be like, worse, or, or better.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe not better.”

The words came out slow, careful, uncertain. Pidge nodded.

“Being a real human person’s a bitch, isn’t it?”

Lance snorted. “It is.”

“But you’re trying. You’re guilty and you’re an asshole, but you’re trying to be better.”

Lance figured, then, he could always count on Pidge to give it to him straight.

“Thank you. For… calling me an asshole.”

“I was never going to stop calling you an asshole.” She said it with a smile. “Are your fingers freezing yet? ‘Cause mine are.”

“Oh, you can feel it!”

“Yeah. Told you, just bruises.”

He released the frozen hold on her hand, and Pidge experimentally flexed her fingers, nodding her head as she did. “They move. We’re in business.”

“Oh, thank god. I don’t think I could build that barn without you.”

“Oh, please. I’d still be there, but like I’d be in the director’s chair giving you stage directions or whatever it is directors do on TV.”

Lance shuddered, then laughed, gathering up the bags of frozen peas and hoisting them in his arms. He grinned down at her, the weight of existing on his shoulders lifting with ease.

“I really mean it, though. Thank you.”

She cocked her head, nodding at him. “For the asshole thing?”

“For letting me be an asshole. I don’t think I would’ve snapped out of it without you.”

And he left without another word, and Pidge lifted her ice-cold arm and inspected it quietly. Moron. Of course he’d snap out of it, eventually. That was just what people do. That was what people  _ did. _

She closed her eyes, the guilt in her stomach weighing her down like stones. Pidge took a heavy breath. She had to tell him, right? That she lied about knowing. That she was using him for her own gain, that she never thought for a second that her blackmail cut him deeper than she believed it would. What was going through his mind when he lied? Was he afraid? Did she sound cruel? 

And what the hell would he think of her if she told him the truth?

Her free hand ghosted over cold skin, remembering the feeling of his skin beneath her fingers, the tautness of his chest when he lifted her and carried her--no, no. _ No.  _ Her eyes snapped open, forgetting in a flash the blue of his eyes and dimples at the corners of his mouth when he smiled at her. She tasted bile in her mouth, cotton drying her throat.

Carefully, she felt for the other pillow on her bed, throwing it over her face with a defeated sigh. Maybe this was what she deserved, for blackmailing him and inviting him with open arms into her wildest dreams and desires. Maybe what she deserved was something  _ different _ , Pidge thought bitterly. Maybe there was something she could do, places she could go that didn’t have unfinished barns and lies and cows and secrets and a town so small that she knew everyone’s favorite fruit jam.

Lance’s favorite is raspberry, Pidge mused. At least that was an honest thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 thank you for reading

**Author's Note:**

> YEAAAAAA guys i've never participated in a bang before but i love writing this fic because i'm always thinking about... them  
> this whole fic will be posted by the end of the bang period (july 31!) so keep an eye out hehe (i'm also mirroring this on [tumblr](https://nadiarizavi.tumblr.com/) !)
> 
> huge thank u to the mods of [@planceminibang](https://planceminibang.tumblr.com/) for being stellar and beautiful and amazing and letting me join in i love u guys xx and EVEN BIGGER THANK U to [@zoedozy](https://zoedozy.tumblr.com/) for lending me her talent. i am emotional. i'll embed the art in the chapter here by next update huhu ;_; <3 
> 
> i hope you guys enjoy reading this !!! it's been such a joy to insert lance and pidge into my own dream of running off to live on a ranch and pet cows


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